REPORT A PROBLEM
What do you call a man who a woman is having an affair with on the side, like the gender opposite of a mistress? I can’t think of the term. That disturbs me. There has to be a term for him. Gigolo just isn’t it. I hope it’s my brain freeze or my vocabulary that’s lacking, not the actual term that’s truly missing. If I have a story to tell you about a women and her mistress it sounds like she’s a lesbian. My only other option is telling you about her affair and that implies cheating from the onset.
I don’t like feeling so tormented. But how do others react?
Fall into people don’t withdrawal.
Here’s a story concept: One character, one event. Then the story splits, unfolding with the character falling onto life and those around her for support. It’s a maze of advice and mixed support. The other tale tells what happens if she withdrawals eating chocolates, blaming the world and planning revenge.
Both scenarios are tormenting. Perched on the edge of a big cliff and knowing you can’t jump is just as tormenting as closing your eyes any jumping into the rocks.
Are your arms open?
There was a tall, slightly laid back guy in long sleeves and a lands end vest, ahead of me at the Starbucks in O’Hare this morning at 6am. I saw him 20 minutes later by the red railings outside on the departure drop off having a smoke and then again an hour later on my next flight. We didn’t speak. He reminded me of you for some reason. Independent, reserved. I imagine you here with me alone. I know you’d love it up here with the dunes, forest and water. I don’t know what you’d be like with the people.
My granny wrote the best birthday card letters, never fail. They were personal and interesting, describing her summer and asking me about my activities. I looked more forward to her scrawled, hard to decipher notes than the enclosed 100 Swiss franc bill wrapped in tinfoil. At 92 she couldn’t write them anymore. It tormented her that we’d miss them and think she didn’t care about us. She died earlier this year. My stepmother and her siblings have been cleaning out the house. She said granny saved every letter she’d ever received. I wish I’d written her more over the years.
Goddamn I can’t get you out of my head. I wish there wasn’t room for you there but even with all my activity and family and complicated life plans at the moment, there appears to be plenty of room for romantic dreams. You fit so well into them. I walked alone into the woods and stumbled into clearings that would frame you so perfectly. I know you’d love it up here. I imagine you transplanted here and I wonder how much of my imagination feeds off of the reality of you vs. the hole my romantic dreaminess needs to fill.
The local hunters are probably the only people who frequent these fields. I walked through pine trees planted in 6 neat rows and stared into the eyes of a dear. Then I crossed an old apple orchard lined with dried algae. Dozens of crickets jumped away with my every step. Next I came across a labyrinth of huge fallen dead trees. I had to break branches to find a crawl space to escape. I finally made it through only to stumble upon mossy fallen trees and pockets of water.
Am I too old to dream of being a fairy princess?
It’s nice to have an imaginary friend. I take you with me places. Places you couldn’t imagine, places you’ve never been, places you’ll probably never visit, places you probably don’t want to visit – like uniting with my family, like here to sleeping dove dunes. You loom so large in my head. In my head I’ve married you. I’ve merged you with my family and created a private world for us within this world. So many of my family members have private bonds with spouses and children they’ve brought along. I’ve never had that protective, personal entourage. I only have them.
I caught myself sleepwalking last night. I woke surrounded by darkness, squatting in the hallway peeing. Total panic overcame me in the split second I came to. I very suddenly found myself in an outrageous position. I couldn’t stop the flow and I couldn’t, for the life of me, remember the dream that had led me there. I was ten feet from the bathroom door. I ran there as soon as I could move. The light from the bathroom shone back on the huge puddle spreading across the tile floor. I cleaned it up so my hosts would never know.
It’s incredible how much of our country is partitioned into squares.
“I started out an old man with archaic ways.”
In what different ways are my friends methodical?
A self help book,
Learn How to Trust your Internal Instincts
The Michelangelo clouds are thick, white & fluffy in the pinkish & golden light of the setting sun.
The next time I see you I‘ll take your picture and you’ll take mine. The subject posed and directed by the photographer. Can we document our courtship in such a fashion?
I enjoy looking wide eyed into the blinding glare of a sunset.
My problem isn’t cooking, it’s grocery shopping. It’s an odd problem to have.
I’ll call your bluff before you call mine. And when we meet again I’ll ask …
I draw in ink around my nipples. X marks the spot.
Do I have to take all these people so seriously?
Who doesn’t have a scare under their chin?
Or a lump under their skin.
I can make meals out of all kinds of mixed ingredients but I often go hungry.
Do you mind if I spit, just for a bit?
I need a toothpick. There’s corn logged between my teeth.
Has someone or something you wanted ever rejected you because they think you’re too good for them?
There was a job I really wanted right out of collage that I didn’t get because they said I’d get too bored. I was too smart and enthusiastic. Maybe it was a dead-end job and I was too green to see it..
Then there was a guy who wouldn’t hang out and have casual sex with me because he said he actually liked me too much. The sex was good. I was sorry to see him go. But it’s probably for the best.
I’ve had $1 in the pocket of my jacket that a special boy found on the street and passed to me. I felt like I should give it away to spread the goodwill but a few months have passed and now it’s moved from the pocket of my jacket to the table in my kitchen. It sits there staring at me, forcing me to question it’s significance. Then tonight I found another stray dollar on the floor of a restroom and instinctively put it into the same pocket of the same jacket. I’m destined to have $1 in my pocket.
Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes
No Please no.
Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes
Yes Please. Please no.
Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No
No thank you
Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No
Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No Yes No
“What have you been doing tonight?” he asks
“Nothing, relaxing.” I say
After hearing about all his personal art projects on top of work and school, I hung up the phone realizing that my ‘nothing’ included my own range of odd projects. I just didn’t have a name for them. I took self portraits in my bathroom mirror without enough light. I tried to fix my light meter. I looked up a string of words in the dictionary. I pulled oily, green wax out of the glass jar of a virgin de Guadalupe candle and sculpted it in my hands.
what do i mind? people in front of me who stop in doorways. i mind not being challenged. i mind being far from the people i like most. i mind that when i pay my bills quarterly late fees accumulate. i mind that traveling by air is crowed and unsafe but I still have to climb aboard to get where i need to go. i mind that i have to actually fit exercise into my life for longer than a month to get into shape. i mind that you really can't make it through life without establishing some basic prejudices.
I live in spider central. There are so many breeds of spiders which frequent my space; the common Daddy long legs, the tiny fast ones that bite me in my sleep, the small plump black ones with strong legs. I cleaned up today (well, I’ve actually made a huge mess moving furniture around and not putting the associated stuff away) but in the process I vacuumed up tons of spider webs and a dozen of spiders as well. Now they’re probably breeding in my vacuum plotting revenge. On top of that I’ve noticed several Daddy long legs wandering around homeless.
I think she meant it.
She says it’s the worst night of her life.
I cut my toenails because my fingernails were already bit.
He hung up on me.
She walked into their apartment with another man.
I said they were my favorite couple.
I told him she was headed home.
He was furious.
He said he was in her apartment and had found a man’s overnight bag.
He asked if she was here.
I answered the phone thinking it was her.
My friend left my place arguing with her date.
They decided to take a month off.
I’m stoned dizzy numb with giddy thoughts and internal silly vibe. There’s an unfamiliar sound from above of a rubber ball quickly bouncing on the wood floor with brief pauses between sets. Bbu bbu bbu … pause … bbu bbu bbu Rinse & Repeat. It’s distracting. It makes me wonder if the music is too loud. I looked up his horoscope, it slapped me in the face. Can you believe that? It rejected me so dead on. I have the dull pain of ovulation. I want to rock my fucken world into squares but I’m too practiced watering myself down.
An apple appetite appeases
Bye-bye bouncing blue babies
Cold courage comes calling Colin
Dig down deep daily
Ecstatic Emma eats eggs easily
Fighting feuds foil frequently
Go get grounded green grapes
Howard has help humping
Ignore iguanas inside igloos
Jump jelly jars jovially
Koo koo kitties keep kicking knees
Laugh louder, love lusciously, lick liberally, live longer
Muck makes movement more muddled
Never nickel nobody - never
Ok, orange ovals ovulate
People put, pull, pry people
Quickly quiver quietly
Round ringlets rise religiously
Sunshine simply sizzles Susie’s supple sisters
Tingling tips topple to town
Vision violates vicious views
I like dramatic people
I like people who stir drama
I like people who have dramatic auras about them
I like people who have a sense of drama to them
I like people whose lives are encased in drama
I like people who can make me feel the drama
I like the drama of adoration
I like people who make my life feel more dramatic
I like people who understand dramatic natures
I like the energy of drama
I find drama sexy.
I like the quiet subtle dramas
I’m not especially drawn to drama queens
Sometimes the line is fine
Max would wait for no one, especially his plump, chattering Italian mother in law.
The boy at the 7-eleven watched her through the window with a bold gaze as she got into her car and put her seat belt on. He made her smile shyly in response.
At the bottom of a box, Sally found an old stack of letters from her father to her mother, from her mother to her father. She started reading through them.
Doris spread the map out in front of her on the hood of the dusty car. There were many roads to choose from.
Different people want attention at different times. Hey, look at me! I’m crossing my Ts! I’m quitting smoking! I’m shouting from the mountain tops. Then there are the girls who don’t say a word, they just lower their bust line and lean over.
Wait – please pass me over, please don’t notice.
Let me start with my feet and then reveal my legs.
Next I’ll move to my elbow.
Please don’t look me in the eye.
Shall I show you my ankle?
Want to examine my armpit? Or the odd pattern of veins just under the skin of my upper arm?
I try to explain my motions and approaches to someone who is only familiar with my moods and brainwaves. I think how my sister would explain it. It’s funny that she’s one of the few people who notices these things about me and is familiar enough with me to talk about it. She points out regularly what makes me me – unique. Does everybody have somebody like that? I can see her watching my physical transformations from awkward and displaced to becoming crazy comfortable with things. She can read my comfort level. She can calm me down, put me at ease.
Trapped. I wish I didn’t have to share the inner workings of my mind or my anxieties with you.
It’s good to know you’re heart & soul are still so strong.
Every moment of elation comes at the price of some sorrow.
I wonder how exactly my blood feeds the tissues of my body. There’s a lot of feeding going on inside me that I’m completely oblivious to.
Every damn part of me needs something.
I’m compelled to dissect things. That’s often a messy process. I have to remember to step back and look at the sum of the parts.
Descending steep flight of stairs in an old theater, I slipped on the first step completely loosing my balance. I envisioned myself landing flat on my face looking much worse than it felt (or feeling even worse then it looked) but I touched down a couple steps later regaining some of my balance. 2 steps down I caught more balance, noticing my friend’s horrified face in the crowd. I finally landed feet first on the floor, full of momentum I plummeted forward bulldozing into a black leather jacket. Hello. I’m still falling forward but learning to land on my feet.
I’m on the edge of reaching out and finally grabbing myself by the balls. I’m creating space for my dreams, for real important goals, for self discipline, for art. I can see myself following through on all my plans; living cheaply, spending time at the gym, taking courses, working at advancing my self expression and learning to support myself with my art. I’ll be free to define my own time & stimulating my growth. I’m afraid. I’ll wimp out. I’ll sit on my ass and become depressed. I’ll get there part of the way but expect too much from myself.
I want to think I’ll always have his heart, that one day when tragedy pops up in his life, that he’d step away from his wife and child and come on a wild adventure to find me. He’d sheepishly look me in the eye. When I hug him hello, he’d fall apart in my arms, sobbing – comfortable to reveal his sorrows and pain. After he’s emptied, I’d dry his tears and tell him I’m pleased to see his heart and soul are still so strong. I’d squeeze him tight, tenderly kiss his check and send him back to his wife.
Who am I to think this is real in the first place? I convince myself time and again that I don’t deserve these feelings, they aren’t justified. I mean why did I believe you to be true. I should know that just because I’m true doesn’t mean that others are. It’s never that black and white. I know you never said what I assumed. But from my perspective, if what you say is real, then we’d be in a different place by now. So your actions don’t jive with my reality. I’m having trouble aligning my feelings with my understandings.
I caught the movement out of the corner of my eye. I look over and I see a massive cockroach. I stepped back. Oh my god, oh my god. It’s spindly legs elevated it above the floor. I was in awe of it. I spoke out loud to myself. My adrenaline increased. I’m such a girl. I don’t want this bug to move any further. I’m alone here with this roach. Phonebooks. I angle them above the creature. I line the underside with paper towel. I plant them to the ground. I step on them. My heart pounding, all woman.
I was out at the bar tonight and I thought I saw you. I mean I saw someone that I thought could be you or at least looked like what I think you’d look like out in a bar listening to a band. I think I understand that you don’t think of me in such settings and that we’ll never go out to bars to hear bands together.
My local bikini waxer came out of the bathroom stall I went into. She smiled in recognition of me.
Another reports he dreams of my legs while sleeping next to his wife.
I want to be spanked for my dirty thoughts and raunchy fantasies. I tangle obsessions with a disconnected man. I want to call back all those kinky dates I rejected. But really I want to have you, David, around when I’m in heat. You’d know instinctively how to feed my desires. It’s when I need you the most that you aren’t around. I’m in heat. I’m steaming, sensitive to the lightest touch, my head full of sex. My reproductive organs ache from within. I can feel the release of my eggs. Is that the clock that I’ve heard talk about?
The Tip Jar